


Conductivity

by privatesnarker



Category: Elisabeth (Színház), Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze
Genre: Androgyny, Gen, Loneliness, Mayerling, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatesnarker/pseuds/privatesnarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rudolf dreams of a woman in a gunmetal dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conductivity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercutioLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/gifts).



Rudolf is nine when a thought changes his life: eventually, he will die. It’s an immense relief, for it means that however sad and lonely he may be, one day it will all be over. It dulls the pain of everyday ordeals, since aches and humiliations don’t matter before the immensity of the inevitable. At night, he wraps himself up in the idea as if it were a blanket: one day this will all be over, and he will have peace. The thought warms him, comforts him, lulls him into sleep, and on the threshold of dropping off it almost feels like a caress on his hair, only just too soft to be noticeable, and whispered endearments in his ears, only just too quiet to be intelligible. He dreams of a hall full of spinning dancers, and in their midst a solitary woman, tall like his mother, in a black and silver dress, flying hair obscuring her face.

Rudolf grows up, and the idea of finiteness isn't comfort enough anymore. But he is free now, at least free to spend some portion of his time as he pleases, and he vows never to endure another lonely night again. The women come and go, each discarded when she proves unfit to bridge the gaping abyss that stands between him and happiness. Still he dreams of the one, her dress like molten metal, her heels clicking in time like clockwork. Sometimes she seems to be whirling in his direction, sometimes she is retreating into the swirl of colors surrounding them, but he still doesn’t know her face.

When at last he stands at the edge, he finds he cannot take the final step. Mary is gone already, the last one to try and reach his heart, only for him to hit hers. There is no way for him but on; one hundred and one shots for his birth and all it would take now is a single one, still he trembles like a child left alone in the night. His world has grown dark, and over the roaring in his ears he hears a ticking noise, and a scraping like metal dragging over the floor. He knows who he will see even before she steps out of the shadows, tall and graceful and in a dress the color of the gun in his hands. His mother would never leave her hair open like that, never paint her lips dark, never show her face without any expression pasted on, and yet they are alike in their distant perfection, and taking her hand feels like a home he never knew. He lets himself be pulled into dizzying twirls to the tune of a manic, discordant waltz. Instead of fear, he is overwhelmed by sadness: rather than passing from pain to nothingness, he would have liked a shot at bliss. But there’s no compassion in the eyes of his dance partner, and he knows that now is too late for remorse. As a strong hand closes around his own – the other this time, the one holding the gun – he finds comfort in the sure grip around his waist that means his body will not fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. At least he will not look like he died alone.

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm saddened by the fact that Hungarian Death doesn't wear a ball gown for the Mayerling scene, I like how he doesn't just let Rudolf fall to the ground like a rag doll.


End file.
